by K Hanson
They reached another set of branches, but before Nereyda could make a decision, a second ship came out in front of them and sped past the opening to the intersection. Some sort of material stretched out behind it.
A net.
At full speed, Nereyda could do little to slow their approach toward the net that stretched behind the ship and across the passage. The Morgiana would hit it with full force.
“No sails!” she ordered, trying to bring the vessel to as much of a stop as possible.
Still, they hit the net hard. The wood creaked as the ship lurched to a sudden stop, and the crew tumbled forward. Nereyda caught herself on the helm wheel. She bit her tongue as she came to a stop.
The other ship had slowed down, knowing the trap that Nereyda was piloting toward. Now it turned its side to them and pulled right alongside their ship.
Hooks flew across the gap, and people on the pursuing ship’s side pulled the two ships together. The Morgiana was about to be boarded.
Nereyda didn’t know how to react.
In the interest of avoiding an unnecessary fight, she chose to wait and see how this played out. When the ships had been brought close enough together, a number of people jumped across the gap and surrounded her crew with weapons drawn and pointed toward them.
The Islanders certainly had a unique and varied look to them. One man with a bald head wore a patchwork of hides and hefted a war hammer in his hands. A leather cord on his armor held his beads, which included mostly yellow, some red, and a few black. Another figure, a woman, wore a long dark green cloak. Curls of golden hair dangled from beneath her hood, along with a braid full of black, green, and yellow beads. She had no visible weapons, but her hands were concealed beneath the cloak. The outfits of the other Islanders were equally varied, assembled from whatever they had collected.
Fariha and Manu huddled next to each other down on the main deck, while Nereyda’s own crew pulled their weapons out and aimed them at the new arrivals, waiting for any order from Nereyda about whether to fight or not. “What do we do, Captain?” asked Jax.
“I don’t know.”
A man with broad shoulders jumped across the gap and strode up to the aftercastle, next to the helm. He looked them over, judging Jax and Nereyda. His leather armor featured an assortment of jewelry sown into rows like military medals. The strand of beads that trailed down along his face contained yellow, some black, and a couple of gold, and was capped with one purple bead.
“I am Bessarion, of the Islander nation. I am here to ask why you are among us. I need to speak with your captain.” He drew a black greatsword from his back. “Disarm yourselves or be destroyed.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Screams rang down as the rebel guards dragged Nereyda to the top of the stairs. Not actually Nereyda, but someone who looked close enough. With black hair and a lithe athletic frame, plus some cuts and bruises on her face, she passed as the pirate captain to anyone who didn’t know her well. The guards shoved her to the ground on the top step, the ruins of the massive Temple of Ameretat in the background. The people of Goremia had assembled on the mountain slope and were jeering at her.
“You bastards,” the woman growled. “Why are you doing this?”
The guards ignored her salty mouth. She attempted to crawl away, but she had only a stump where her left hand should be. Limbani didn’t remember the woman missing a hand when she had found her in the city dungeon for some petty crime. Revulsion and regret spread like a cold chill. It should never have come to this. Devrim had gone too far.
One of the guards kicked Nereyda’s look-alike to the ground and planted a foot on her back while the other backed up and watched for any sign of real resistance, but the prisoner could offer none.
The guard on her back raised his sword.
The woman’s scream pierced Limbani’s ears and darted straight into her heart.
Limbani glanced away as the sword fell.
Then silence.
Limbani jolted awake. The screams of the woman still echoed in her mind. It had merely been a dream, but the memories that fueled it were very real.
The rough fabric of her bedding clung to her clammy skin as she tossed her blankets from her. A slice of morning sunlight cut between the flaps of her tent. Limbani stared at the tent walls for a moment as she settled her pounding heart. The image of the woman, executed for the crime of looking like Nereyda, refused to budge from her brain.
She rolled out of her cot. As she dressed herself, the familiarity of her uniform on her skin comforted her and reminded her of her duty. It was her responsibility to protect Devrim, even from himself.
After she slipped on her boots, she pushed aside the tent flaps and emerged into the cool morning. Crisp air breezed off of the mountains and carried a hint of pine. Rows of tents stretched out around her on the field outside of Goremia. Groups of rebel soldiers marched around the camp on patrol. Others huddled around campfires.
Laughter and banter rippled from the pockets of soldiers. Limbani smiled at the combination of order and comradery that her troops displayed.
She marched through the camp toward Devrim’s command tent. As she passed a larger campfire, the savory aroma of roasting meat drifted past her nose. Her stomach growled at the scent of food, but she didn’t think she could eat with the woman’s image still fresh from her nightmare. She’d join the troops later for some breakfast.
Two rows of tents later, Limbani arrived at the large command tent Devrim had set up. No voices sounded from within, only the rustle of papers.
She peeled back a flap of the tent and poked her head in. Devrim sat at a portable folding desk as he read through a pile of documents. “May I come in, sir?” Limbani asked.
He kept his gaze on the papers as he waved her in. “Yes, of course.”
Limbani ducked into the tent and approached the desk. “Any important news?”
Devrim tapped the stack of papers. “Yes. More towns and villages have sent letters of support. They are rising up against their reigning nobles. Even some of the lords have been pressured into flipping sides.”
“That’s good. Maybe this will be over soon.”
“I hope so. It seems that the news of Nereyda’s apparent death has been tremendous for our recruiting efforts,” Devrim said in too casual a tone.
Limbani picked at a button on her uniform. “That’s part of why I’m here. I’m not sure that was the right approach.”
He planted his elbow on the desk and rested his chin in his hand as he studied her. “How could it not be? As we just discussed, our numbers have swelled. What’s the life of one criminal compared to overthrowing the Empire?”
Limbani chewed on her lip before responding. “I understand that it has been good for expanding our reach. I’m just worried that perhaps we’re paying too high a cost.”
Devrim rose and strode around the desk, then stood in front of Limbani, gazing down his nose at her. “Too high a cost? We killed some worthless nobody so that Nereyda, your friend and the woman I care about, could live. This single death has also gained us more support than any of our hard-fought battles. It seems like a pretty low cost to me.”
Limbani crossed her arms. “I did not sign up for your household guard to murder innocent people.”
“Innocent? We hauled her from jail. She committed a crime.”
“That woman broke into a shop for a loaf of bread and was serving the time for that. She was only executed for the crime of looking like Nereyda.”
Devrim loomed closer and dropped his voice into a sinister whisper. “Listen, if we’re going to win this, we have to be willing to make sacrifices. This is a war. People die in war.”
Limbani held her ground and stiffened her posture. “That doesn’t mean you have to throw them away. Sacrifices are only worth it if you gain more than you lose. And this rebellion is not worth losing our humanity.”
Devrim spun around and kicked his desk over. Papers flew around the tent. He whirled back to
her and jabbed a finger toward her chest. “I did not scrape you off of my factory floor so that you could question me. We are a sliver away from having everything come together as planned. I did not work this hard for it to all come crashing down because of your crisis of conscience.”
Limbani gave him a sideways look, unshaken by his outburst. “What do you mean everything is working out as planned? You have to admit that things have gotten a bit off track.”
He lurched back. He stared at her for a second before he shook his head. “Yes, you’re right,” he said, his voice suddenly calm. “I only mean that we are on the path to victory as people realize we can get things done that the Emperor can’t.” He bent down and hauled his desk upright.
Limbani let it go. It wouldn’t help to press Devrim any further at the moment. However, she resolved that she would not allow him to cross the line again. “Speaking of the path to victory, what’s next for us? Keep waiting for more letters to pour in?” She knelt and gathered papers from the ground.
Devrim relaxed his shoulders, apparently relieved at the change in topic. “Our progress on land is excellent with our new allies. However, we will not be able to finish the job without a fleet. The Imperial Navy will make it nearly impossible to take the capital or any other city on the coast that remains loyal to the Empire.”
Limbani passed the papers she had collected to Devrim. “In that case, we need a fleet of our own. Send letters back to all of these new allies and ask them to outfit any available ships for war. Have them meet us in Antalia.”
“Antalia? That’s on the opposite side of the continent from Manisa.”
“I know, but it’s the most protected harbor and our largest. We can’t afford to lose whatever fleet we assemble.”
Devrim rubbed his chin and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll send the messages. I only hope that it will be enough. Taking on both the western and eastern fleets is a dangerous proposition.”
###
“It can’t be true,” said Erhan. “I don’t believe Nereyda’s dead.”
He stared across at the broad-shouldered cloaked figure. Together, they sat at a rickety table in an abandoned house a week’s ride east of Goremia. The trees outside rustled in the wind and the door creaked back and forth on its hinges, the latch rusted to the point of not catching.
Erhan had hated being left out of what happened in Goremia. When Sabah had told him to leave, he nearly disobeyed, but had changed his mind when the Sentinels escorted him from the city. Sabah had not said as much, but the message had been clear.
He was being forced out of Goremia.
Now, it was up to him to finish the work of the Inquisition.
“Why don’t you believe she’s dead?” asked the man as he leaned back in his chair.
“Because it doesn’t add up.” He drummed his fingers on the coarse wood. “I saw Devrim and Nereyda dancing together at the ball. He clearly cares for her, or he is very good at acting. And why throw away one of his best assets?” Erhan sighed. “As much as I hate to give her any praise, it would take a lot of troops to add up to her worth.”
“You think the news is fabricated?”
“To some extent. I think they killed someone, but I don’t think it was Nereyda.”
“And the pirate conveniently vanished around the same time?” A wormy smile slithered across the cloaked man’s face. “Why would she do that?”
A chill breeze penetrated the cracks in the old house. “It’s hard to say. But it might be easier to guess where she’ll appear next, if she is in fact alive.”
“What are you thinking, Commander?”
The sarcastic emphasis on his rank irked Erhan, but he ignored it. “Nereyda’s greatest value is at sea. And you can’t take the capital without a navy.”
“You think the rebellion will reach Manisa? You’re willing to write off your Empire already?”
Erhan pounded his fist on the table. “I’m not writing it off, but I can see where things are going. When the rebels go for Manisa, Nereyda will be with their navy if she’s alive. And I’m going to be there waiting for her.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The black blade glimmered in what sunlight penetrated the fog. Nereyda glanced around at the situation, looking at the heavily armed Islanders and the rows of cannons aimed at them from the ship alongside them. The commander of the Islanders stood in front of her with his sword drawn, alternating between pointing it at her and Jax. The bald man clutched his hefty war hammer just behind him.
“I need to speak with your captain. Drop your weapons if you don’t want us to kill you right now. I won’t repeat myself again.”
“Jax, how do I respond?”
“Do not address each other,” Bessarion interrupted. “I am speaking, not this Jax.”
“I am Captain Nereyda,” she said as she offered her hand.
He pulled away, keeping his sword on her.
“You are the captain? Tell your crew to disarm, then we can speak.”
“Very well. Okay, friends, drop your weapons, and we’ll see what this is all about.”
Her crew hesitated.
“Do what I said. I’m sure this will all be fine. We won’t win a fight, anyway.”
With that, her crew dropped their weapons to the ground and watched their guests warily.
“Excellent. Thank you for complying. Most do not. Most try to fight as soon as they see our ships. You chose to run rather than fight. Why?”
“We didn’t recognize your ship, and we aren’t here to fight. We’re just bringing your people home.”
Bessarion scanned the faces of her crew and let out a grunt. “Still, you came into our territory uninvited, in an unfamiliar ship, and did not submit immediately upon hearing our warning shots.”
“I didn’t know how to interpret your shots. If you had been Stalstan or Cambisian, we could not afford surrender.”
“Perhaps, but do Stalstans and Cambisians navigate our waters at full speed without crashing into the islands? Only we can do that. You seem to be pretty good at it, though.” His gaze held both suspicion and admiration.
“I’ve done it before. This isn’t my first time sailing in these waters.”
“Are you one of us? Have you come home?” he shuffled back and let his sword fall a bit.
“No, but I was here on an Imperial ship, and I piloted as it chased a Stalstan ship.”
He paced closer again and raised his sword once more. Cool metal rested against Nereyda’s throat. “You are an Imperial? Are these Islanders your prisoners?”
“No, I was a prisoner when I was on that ship. And these people were prisoners in the mines with me when I was returned to the Empire.”
“So how do you come into our sea now?”
“We escaped during a Stalstan attack, and we want to come home. Well, the Islanders want to come home. I’m helping them. The rest of us may also stay a while. Can you lead us to your home?”
He remained silent for a moment, then said, “You are here to join us?”
“Possibly. We are enemies of the Cambisians, as you are. I was part of, well, we all were part of, a rebellion to overthrow the Emperor.”
Bessarion removed his sword from her throat, then tilted his head as he gazed at her. “You are the one whom we saw do the impossible feat of bringing an Imperial frigate through the Tempest’s Corridor at full sail. I remember now. You are a legend. No outsider has ever done that. How did you do it without being familiar with the waters?”
“I guess I’m a natural. I feel where the water is going to go and I follow my intuition. But we can talk about that all day long somewhere else. Can you lead us through the Shattered Sea?”
“I need some verification from your Islander guests first.” He turned to Jax. “What is your name? Is what she says true? Are you indeed Islanders come home? You aren’t prisoners or perhaps even spies sent here by the Cambisians or Stalstans to undo our people?”
Jax cleared his throat. “My name is Jax, and
what she says is true. We have all been friends and allies through many battles. She and her crew have yet to let us down. In fact, we would not have been free of the mines without her. Do you know what happened in Lamia? Here is a scar I earned while fighting there.” He lifted his sleeve and revealed a long scar that trailed from wrist to elbow. “My wife died to send the children to safety. I hope they arrived safely and that they told the story of how the Cambisians slaughtered us.”
The bald man leaned closer to Bessarion. “Sir, my daughter came from Lamia and spoke of this woman. I think he’s telling the truth.”
Bessarion’s eyes widened as his eyebrows rose. He took a deep, measured breath. “Ah, yes. That was a somber day. A boat full of children arrived and they told us a tale of great death. A village of people put to the sword for no reason. Did you ever learn why they did that?”
Jax shrugged. “Our captors merely told us that we were impeding on the claimed territory of the Cambisian empire—though we saw no sign of a claim or settlement on their part.”
“Yes, we have heard similar reports of anyone who attempts to settle or even camp too far south in the sea. The Stalstans may be up to something similar, perhaps. In fact, they may be up to something even more sinister. I’ve heard stories,” he said looking at Nereyda, “of villages burned to the ground, with no sign of prisoners being taken. No message left, and nobody left alive to tell the tale.”
“I have a guess about what is doing the killing,” said Nereyda.
“Then perhaps you may be able to help us.” Bessarion’s posture relaxed a bit further. “I don’t need to hear the full story now. Because of your willingness to surrender and the fact that you are among other Islanders who vouch for you, I am comfortable helping you bring these people home. However, we understand that our islands remain largely uncharted to you southerners, and we wish to keep it that way.”
“We understand and will not reveal your secrets to anybody.”
